The gentlemen pensioners in gold-embroidered suits
and lace-edged ruffs, the dignified councilors in richer if darker
robes, the maids of honor, bright as damask roses moving in the wind,
all circled around one pale woman with keen gray-blue eyes that never
betrayed her. A little apart, speaking now and then to some courtier or
councilor, stood the Spanish Ambassador in somber black and gold, like a
watchful spider in a garden of rich flowers. Ralegh, careless and
debonair, gave him a frank salutation as he came to speak to his
captains.
"You may repent of the venture and wish to stay at Court," he said
smiling. "The Queen thinks well of ye."
"Not I," growled Barlowe, and Armadas laughed, "My Lord, do you think so
ill of us as to deem us weathercocks in the wind?"
"You must take care to avoid the clutches of the Inquisition," Ralegh
added, not lowering his voice noticeably, yet not speaking loud enough
to be heard by others. "I have hastened the fitting out of the ships and
delayed your coming to Court lest Philip's ferrets be set on you. The
life of Kings and Queens is like to a game of chess."
"Of primero rather, it seems to me," said Armadas, "or the game the
Spanish call ombre. Chess is brain against brain, fair play. In the
other one may win the game by the fall of the cards--or by cheatery.
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